


Entitled to Enjoy the Moment

by sparkeythehamster



Series: Shipping Challenge [4]
Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Aggressive sexual language, Jealous Gene Hunt, M/M, One Shot, Period-Typical Homophobia, References to Drugs, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:01:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24879652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparkeythehamster/pseuds/sparkeythehamster
Summary: “If we’d have come barrelling in here, guns blazing, Johnathan Reele and his cronies would be halfway to Liverpool by now.” Sam shook his head, “We don’t even know what he looks like, he might not even be here.”“Then what the bloody hell are we doing here?” Ray snapped, his voice loud enough for the nearby bartender to shoot a funny look in their direction.Glaring at him, Sam shook his head. “Even if he isn’t here, the informant said he was a regular, it’s possible someone in the club knows him.” Casting a quick glance over his shoulder at the dance floor, Sam set his own untouched pint back on the bar. “I’m going to go and see if I can get anyone to talk.”“No, you bloody aren’t!” Sam ignored the predictable knee-jerk protest from the DCI and merged onto the dancefloor, feeling the angry heat of Gene’s eyes boring into his back.
Relationships: Gene Hunt/Sam Tyler
Series: Shipping Challenge [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1787848
Comments: 8
Kudos: 46





	Entitled to Enjoy the Moment

Sam had heard people claim that the sixties had been the greatest decade for British music, he’d even heard a small delusional group claim that it had been the eighties. But for Sam Tyler the seventies would always be the home of the greats.

The memorable opening sirens of The Sweet’s _Blockbuster_ screamed out over the lively dance floor of ‘The Racing Stallion’ nightclub, as a fresh wave of dancers spilled out onto the floor. Sam had to fight the temptation to join them. He had a job to do, they all did.

A tip regarding the identity of a high-profile drug dealer had led them here, chasing a relatively new drug for the era, methylenedioxyamphetamine, otherwise known as MDA. A drug Sam knew to be the ancestor of modern day MDMA. Not that anyone had particularly cared when he’d explained it to them. Sam had given up a while ago on trying to pretend he didn’t know the things he did, they either believed he was inspired (Chris), mad (Annie and Ray) or winding them up (Gene).

“I hope you know what you’re bloody doing” Gene snarled, mouth close to Sam’s ear so he could be overheard above the music. “I did not sign off on my men being undercover in a fucking poof bar just so you could have a fun night out.”

Undercover was a very loose word. Both Detective Chief Inspector Gene Hunt and Detective Sergeant Ray Carling stood out like a sore thumb against the backdrop of the nightclub, opting to watch from the bar, both nursing their second pint of the evening. The other men in the club were giving them a wide berth, occasionally glancing in their direction with suspicion.

Chris was having better luck. He was young and gave off a look of total bewilderment everywhere he went, which in this case passed for just being a little shy. Sam kept one eye on the Detective Constable to make sure he wasn’t getting into any trouble, but at the moment he was just being fussed over by several older couples who were giving him love advise and pointers about how to sort out his hair.

“If we’d have come barrelling in here, guns blazing, Johnathan Reele and his cronies would be halfway to Liverpool by now.” Sam shook his head, “We don’t even know what he looks like, he might not even be here.”

“Then what the bloody hell are we doing here?” Ray snapped, his voice loud enough for the nearby bartender to shoot a funny look in their direction.

Glaring at him, Sam shook his head. “Even if he isn’t here, the informant said he was a regular, it’s possible someone in the club knows him.” Casting a quick glance over his shoulder at the dance floor, Sam set his own untouched pint back on the bar. “I’m going to go and see if I can get anyone to talk.”

“No, you bloody aren’t!” Sam ignored the predictable knee-jerk protest from the DCI and merged onto the dancefloor, feeling the angry heat of Gene’s eyes boring into his back.

He hadn’t been there long before another man, perhaps a couple of years younger than himself, approached. “That your boyfriend?” He nodded through the crowd at Gene who was still shooting daggers at him.

Laughing, a little bewildered by the accusation, Sam shook his head and forced himself back into character. “He’s been trying all night. Not really my type though.” With a small encouraging smile, he gave the other man a quick once-over. He wasn’t bad looking, a little on the skinny side, and the gold eyeliner was a bit intense, but otherwise just the sort of man a gay Sam Tyler should probably be attracted to.

Grinning in appreciation, the other man offered him his hand. “The name’s Jamie, I’m afraid I don’t know yours, but I’d still love to ask you to dance.”

“Sam.” After all it was a fairly common name. “And sure.” Accepting Jamie’s hand, Sam let the other man lead him into the thick throng of dancers.

With a swift sweeping motion, the DJ switched to the next track, David Bowie’s _The Jean Genie_. Not the ideal song for the moment, especially with the real Gene Genie glowering at him through the mass of moving bodies.

Not wanting to sound too desperate, Sam danced the next two dances with Jamie before tapping him on the arm to signal he needed a break. The other man nodded and motioned Sam towards the edge of the dancefloor, following him out just as Sam had hoped he would.

“I’m exhausted already” Sam gasped, which was only half a lie. After all, he was thirty-six years old, if anything it was impressive he’d managed to keep up with many of the much younger people in the crowd. But still, he motioned the group of people still dancing. “Where do they get the energy from?”

“I think they probably have a little help from _Sally_ ” Jamie told him with a grin, “No harm in a little bit every once and a while on a night out after all.”

This was exactly what Sam had been waiting for. “Can you get some around here?” Keeping his tone light, trying to look honestly like he was just a guy trying to have a fun night out, Sam gave Jamie his best imploring look.

Laughing, Jamie tapped his cheek playfully with the side of his index finger. “How can I say no to a face like that.” Casting a quick look around, Jamie found who he was looking for and nodded towards one of the booths. “That’s Reele over there, you want a helping hand from _Sally_ then he’s your man.” Jamie’s tone tightened a little, “but I’d be careful, he’s a bastard, and you seem like a nice lad.”

Reele was a thick-set man in his late-forties or early-fifties. Through the flashing lights Sam could make out his dark pepper-sprinkled hair and somewhat handsome square-jawed face. He wasn’t alone. Standing in front of his booth were two strong looking men standing watch like guards, while three other effeminate and pretty men crawled all over the drug dealer’s lap.

“Thanks. Don’t worry, I’ll be careful.” Making to move, Sam caught Gene’s eye again just as the crowd parted. His DCI had moved away from the bar and was now leaning against one of the columns to keep a better eye on Sam’s movements. Sam watched as the other detective flinched when Jamie’s hand closed lightly around his arm.

Confused, Sam stopped and turned. The other man had pulled a pen out of his pocket and was scribbling something on Sam’s arm.

Gene had tensed, pushing away from the pillar, looking ready to strike. As discretely as he could, Sam shook his head. He was fine, a guy in a bar was just scribbling his number on his arm, that was all.

“Don’t be a stranger, okay” Jamie winked, releasing Sam’s arm with a flirtatious smile, before disappearing back into the crowd.

He caught Gene’s eye again, the other man was still scowling, but he’d returned to his perch against the pillar. No wonder Jamie had thought they were dating. To all the regulars it probably looked like Gene was some insane jealous lover keeping tabs on his boyfriend’s movements, or a fierce ex incapable of letting go.

Considering it was the only unconscious cover Gene seemed to be capable of, Sam decided to just go with it.

Breaking eye contact, he meandered through the crowd to the drug dealer’s table.

Relaxing his body as much as he could, Sam approached the table with a small stumble. He’d only danced two dances, but he wanted to give the impression he’d been on his feet since the club had opened. Hopefully, the recent dances with Jamie had helped to give off that impression.

However, the moment he had come within a few feet of the table, the guards closed ranks.

“Hey there fellas” Sam greeted with a naïve smile, “I heard this was the place I could meet _Sally_ if I needed a bit of help.” Reaching into his pocket, he flashed several five-pound notes.

Modern day policing would call this entrapment, in fact it was still probably classified as entrapment in 1973, but judges and juries didn’t really seem to care.

With a small wave of Reele’s hand, the guards parted, giving Sam a clearer look at the man sitting before him, as well as the other three men on his lap, who were all moaning and squealing loudly, mouths open as Reele pressed a little white pill between their teeth.

Internally Sam scowled. Men like Reele took advantage of the desperate to satisfy their own desire and pleasure, it made him feel sick to the very core of his stomach. But he managed to keep his happy-go-lucky persona together and waited patiently for Reele to speak.

“Put your money away lad.” He smiled; teeth drawn wide like a shark. Reele motioned the other three men off to one side, spreading his legs with arrogant confidence. “For the pretty twinks like you, I’m happy to offer other means of payment.”

Jaw tightening, Sam shook his head, managing a quick laugh. “If it’s the same to you, I’d still rather pay in cash. How much for a couple?” Despite himself, he still took a tentative step backwards, sensing that this could get very dangerous, very quickly. For the first time that night, he hoped that Gene was still keeping a close eye on him.

A hand on his shoulder stopped his movements, one of the guards was standing behind him preventing his escape. With a sharp shove, Sam found himself thrown back in the direction of the table, managing to catch himself just before he went spiralling into the booth.

Shaking his head firmly, Sam tried to step back again. “I think I’ll just leave it then.” Exchanging police approved money for drugs was one thing, he wasn’t about to get on his knees for the sake of bringing down a scumbag like this, there would be other ways.

Reele smiled and shook his head. “Come now. I promise, you’ll enjoy it just as much as I will.”

The guard grabbed Sam again. Breaking character, Sam kicked back, aiming for the guard’s ankle. His foot made contact, but just as the guard’s grip broke, the second one grabbed him. “Get off me!” Sam snapped. His distress sounded loud and clear, and much to his relief Detective Chief Inspector Gene Hunt stormed from his watching place towards the booth, grabbing Sam with one hand and shoving the guard back with the other. He looked absolutely livid, blue eyes darting furiously between Reele and the two burly men who were squaring off against him.

“Everything all right here?”

To Sam’s intense surprise, Gene adjusted his grip, so that his arm was slung across the top of Sam’s shoulder. A tight and possessive gesture, despite the nervous tension Sam could feel radiating off the taller man standing beside him.

Reele didn’t even flinch, his legs still open and waiting. “Oh, I was simply asking your little friend here for a blowjob in exchange for drugs.”

Either Reele was stupid or far too confident for his own good, because Sam felt Gene’s reaction before the DCI had even moved.

Gene lunged across the table, moving at a speed no man his size should be able to manage, seizing the front of Reele’s shirt and pulling him over the table. A sickening crunch informed Sam in the dark flashing club that Gene had just punched him in the face.

“You’re nicked sunshine!” Drawing handcuffs from his pocket, Gene held the struggling man in place as he closed the first lock around his left wrist.

Sam moved to intercept one of the guards as they attempted to stop him. Whether he approved of Gene’s methods or not, the fact of the matter was that they had just declared themselves to be police in the middle of a crowded place with two potentially armed bodyguards either side of them. Better able to prepare himself this time, Sam landed a precise hit into the ribs of the guard that had just made a move for Gene, throwing him off balance.

Ray bolted through the crowd looking utterly relieved to reveal his identity at last, shouting it in the face of every man he passed, before colliding with the second guard and tackling him to the floor. In the commotion Gene had managed to slap the last handcuff down around Reele’s wrist.

The three other men in the booth had all yelped and fled, crawling over the seats of the booth to get away from the fighting.

Within minutes the whole place had descended into chaos.

Sam didn’t like to hit anybody except in self-defence, but at the end of the day this was Manchester in 1970, they were everybody’s least favourite people, and they needed to get Reele and his guards out into the waiting police van.

He had to focus half of his attention on avoiding the chanting crowds, and the other half on stopping Ray from arresting every person who snorted at him. In the end he had to leave Gene to drag Reele and the guards out by himself. Seizing hold of the back of Ray’s jacket and grabbing Chris’ arm, Sam hauled them both out of the club before things could be made any worse.

“Well that was a disaster.” Tossing Ray out ahead of him, Sam held his ground when the Sergeant made a wild attempt to charge back into the havoc, knowing full well that Ray wouldn’t actually hit him. “What the hell were you trying to arrest that bloke in the pink shirt for back there!?”

Ray was fuming, red in the face as he looked around for something he was allowed to kick. “He shoved an inflatable… he…” Turning an even darker shade of red, Ray aimed a vicious kick at a nearby dustbin. “That’s assault that is!”

“It is no such thing!” Sam snapped back. “You two stay here, I’m going to make sure…”

His intention had been to go and make sure Gene was okay, he’d had three men to wrestle out of the club after all. But just as he turned the man, and self-proclaimed legend, appeared in the doorway, Reele thrown over one shoulder, and the other two men being pulled out by their arms.

“Someone help me out here!” Impressive as it was, the man was clearly struggling. Stepping aside to allow Ray to grab one of the guards, Sam took charge of Reele, perhaps tightening his hold on the man a little more than necessary. He got a small buzz of guilty satisfaction when he saw that Reele’s nose had been broken.

With the three arrested men piled into the back of the police van that had been waiting just around the corner, the rest of the group piled into the Cortina.

“What the hell was that!?” Having held himself together until now, Sam rounded on the others from the passenger seat as soon as the doors had been closed. “We don’t even know if Reele’s got any drugs on him, you broke your cover too soon!”

“The bloody poofter said he had drugs!” Gene shouted back, pulling the car out onto the road at a speed that could barely be classified as legal.

Had Gene ever thought anything through? Anything, just one thing!

“That’s not good enough! Just because he said he does, doesn’t mean he actually had them on his person. You know a lawyer can use that in court, and if you even suggest we plant them on him then…”

Feeling the need to defend his beloved DCI, Ray swung forward from the back seat. “Is that what you want, you want a fucking drug dealer to go free. What is this? All poofs together?”

Taking one hand off the wheel, Gene shoved Ray back. “Sit down and shut up the lot of you!”

Chris, who had stayed absolutely silent throughout this whole ordeal continued to twiddle his thumbs while the rest of them sat in fuming silence. Gene took the next turn onto the main road.

“I’m sorry what was that?” Having been content to sit in silence, Sam turned his head sharply. He’d heard Gene mumble, and he was fairly certain he’d heard what the other man had said, but there was absolutely no chance he was going to let that slip by.

With an angry and stubborn look, Gene repeated what he’d mumbled, loudly and clearly. “I said, I’d have expected a little more gratitude, but then again maybe you wanted that shit to bend you over the table and fuck you in front of the whole room!”

Chris let out a small gasp from the back, and even Ray kept his mouth shut. Both stayed quiet, eyes darting between the two men in the front.

“Stop the car.” Sam spoke quietly at first, and then when Gene didn’t respond he shouted it. “Stop the bloody car!”

Foot on the breaks, the car screeched to a halt. Sam had absolutely no idea where he was, but he wasn’t sitting in that car for a moment longer. Slamming the door behind him, Sam stormed out onto the pavement, arms crossed as the Cortina tore off into the night without a sliver of hesitation.  
  


* * *

With the help of a very kind old lady who had given him the right directions for the late-night bus, Sam had managed to reach his tiny bedstead just after midnight. He was exhausted, but still coiling in fury over Gene’s accusation.

While it was true he’d been very relieved to see Gene coming to his aid when things had gotten a little hairy in the club, he hadn’t expected him to break their cover in such a dramatic way. Perhaps he had overreacted a little, but it was just so frustrating after having come so close to catching the bastard, only to be at risk now of losing their suspect all over again.

Falling down onto his bed, still fully dressed, Sam prepared himself for the few hours of sleep he could grab before returning to work in the morning, having no idea what to expect. Either the rest of the team would just act like nothing had happened, or Gene would be waiting for him to restart the argument all over again.

A knock at the door interrupted his pitiful attempts to get some sleep. Sam felt like he should be more annoyed, after all it was almost one in the morning, but resigned to the night already being a challenge, he rolled out of bed to answer it.

A drunk Gene Hunt standing in his doorway was one of four possible candidates.

“You are a self-righteous ponce. I save your bloody bacon and you can’t get down of your Hyde-High Horse and say _thank you._ I saved your prissy little modesty back there and _you_ repay it all by shouting at me in front of _my_ men after _I_ singlehandedly captured a drug-dealer and _two_ of his henchmen.” He paused dramatically, pouting in the weak light cast from the lamp sitting by the side of Sam’s bed.

“Are you finished?” He did not have the energy to deal with this right now, and if Gene was just going to stand there and insult him, then he was just going to close the door. However, before he had the chance to do just that, the other man had pushed his way haphazardly into the room, proceeding to push his way into the kitchen where he started going through all the cupboards.

Rolling his eyes, Sam closed the door.

“What are you doing here?” Drunk or not, Gene must have come here for a reason.

“Looking for a desent cup of tea.” He opened and shut another cupboard. “No wonder you’re so bloody thin, do you have any food here at all?”

He was evading, and that never meant anything good.

Sam settled back to wait, allowing Gene to wallow in silence for a few minutes, until the other man finally spoke.

“You still have that number on your arm.”

Having prepared himself for insults, small talk, or even an attempt to return to normality, Sam had not prepared himself for this. The statement caught him so off-guard that for a moment that Sam could only blink like an idiot. What was Gene talking about?

And then he remembered. Glancing down at his arm he saw the number Jamie had left for him in the bar. “I forgot about that.” Licking the fingers on his left hand, he wiped the number clear, reducing it to a small smear. Jamie had been nice but getting involved with someone who might potentially turn out to be a witness would be inappropriate.

He didn’t miss the way Gene relaxed at the gesture, and somehow that small and subtle change in the other man’s demeanour annoyed him even more. Was that what this was about? Gene had been so terrified his DI might be interested in a man that he’d come over here to make sure nothing was about to ‘go down’.

“Look. I know what you all think, but I’m not some helpless, naïve idiot that needs you to swan in and rescue him every five minutes…” Gritting his teeth, Sam focused his gaze on the nearest open cupboard. He knew he needed to say it, even if he didn’t want to. “Thank you for helping me tonight…”

Gene hummed in appreciation. He was standing a little straighter, and Sam found himself questioning his earlier observations about how drunk the DCI was. If anything, he just looked… stressed, perhaps a little flustered, nervous energy running the course of his body like a coiled spring.

“Earlier though…” Perhaps he shouldn’t be pushing it but, confused by Gene’s presentation and motivations, he couldn’t help but delve a little deeper. “…With the guy in the club, I was absolutely fine. You were trailing me around that nightclub like a jealous ex.”

The other man stiffened, eyes narrowing, the early warning signs of another argument bubbling under the surface.

Taking a deep breath, Gene pushed out of the kitchen, drawing himself to his full height. “Let’s get this straight. Even if I was a fudge-packing, sausage loving nancy poof, the Gene Genie can do better than a smug, skinny little git from Hyde.”

Sam raised an eyebrow at the excessive use of offensive language pouring from his DCI’s mouth. “You know every time I think you’ve reached the bottom of the pit of racist, sexist, homophobic slurs; you dig just that little bit deeper.” Maybe he said it because he was sleep deprived, or perhaps he really was as mad as everyone thought he was, but he couldn’t help but add, “This smug, skinny little git from Hyde wouldn’t have you anyway.”

The force of another mouth against his own threw Sam completely off balance. It was only the large hand around his waist that kept him in place, balancing them both as Gene Hunt, _the_ DCI Gene Hunt kissed him in the middle of his apartment at one in the morning.

Too startled to process what was happening, Sam remained rigid, his mind whirring as he tried to decipher whether this was another illusion or trick his mind was playing on him. In his panic, he almost missed Gene pulling away and turning to go, turning to run. If Sam let him go now, he knew that they would never talk about what had just happened.

“Wait!” Moving faster than he thought himself capable, Sam darted under Gene’s arm to block his way to the door. “Why did you do that?”

Face red with humiliation and shortness of breath, Gene shook his head and attempted to push Sam out of the way, but the shorter man stood his ground.

“Fuck it.” If this really was a delusion in his own head then there was no chance he would fail. Surging up onto his toes, Sam returned the kiss with heated enthusiasm. He tensed waiting for the punch, waiting for the yelling.

For a few seconds, the other man didn’t respond, and then a hand gripped the side of his face, adjusting it to a better angle as he forced them both back against the bedsit door.

Mad, in a coma, or back in time, Sam felt he was entitled to enjoy this moment.


End file.
